Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 425 A Desperate Future

The corruption of chaos will erupt like festering sores across the galaxy, turning entire planets into screaming, living sacrifices...

The undead dynasty, slumbering for millennia, will awaken from its cold tombs, carrying with it an eternal hatred for the living…

A green tide of destruction will sweep across everything, shattering even the strongest fortresses with a battle cry...

The Tyranid swarm from deep space will devour all living matter, turning the once-thriving world into lifeless rock...

If it were just a single threat, the Empire, with its size, could still put up a fight.

But at this moment, all the calamities descended at the same time, as if by prior arrangement!
Like a meticulously choreographed apocalyptic symphony, each destructive movement overlaps and resonates at the worst possible moment.

Furthermore, there are elusive Eldar pirates taking advantage of the chaos to plunder, the ambitious Tau Empire seizing the opportunity to expand its territory, and the Empire itself plagued by constant rebellions and territories torn apart by the Great Rift...

Each of these wounds could be fatal, and now they are all bleeding at the same time.

The next twenty years for mortals will be the eve of the human empire's plunge into its deepest and most desperate darkness.

The historical record of this period will be full of contradictory narratives—some will see the final glory, while others will witness the beginning of the collapse, depending entirely on which side of the great rift the observer stands on.

If Guilliman had not miraculously awakened, humanity would likely have experienced another despair known as the Old Night, and the entire empire would have completely disintegrated.

The Primarch's return was like a star suddenly shining in the dark universe, but even he himself could not be sure whether this light was a harbinger of dawn or a final burst of light before the end of civilization.

"So, in order to save the empire, buddy, some... principles and bottom lines can no longer be clung to from the 3K era." 32 reached out, his cold metal prosthetic limb gently patting Chen Xi's shoulder, the gesture carrying an almost cruel "comfort."

She had already adjusted her mindset, viewing this hopeless world as a large-scale immersive game with unchangeable rules.

As a "player," she chose to "clear the level" within the rules, suppressing her inner discomfort and playing her role well.

Chen Xi, on the other hand, carries an even heavier burden of a sense of justice and compassion.

Whenever he sees workers being sent into the recycling plant, his stomach cramps physiologically; whenever he signs yet another compromise document, he screeches his fingers harder than usual, as if trying to tear the paper apart.

32 noticed all these subtle reactions, but could only choose to remain silent.

As governor, he possessed the power to change local conditions and was eager to make changes.

He established the most efficient hydroponic farm in the entire sector on Rostov II, installed real windows in the workers' quarters, and even secretly reduced the quota for servant conversions.

But these small acts of kindness are like faint starlight in the dark universe, fleeting and unable to illuminate the entire galaxy.

The empire as a whole is too inertial to be decaying; the goodwill of individuals is like a stone thrown into an abyss, barely making a sound.

Chen Xi's reform measures began to change after spreading to three planets, and by the time they reached the tenth planet, they had become completely opposite policies.

The bureaucratic system is like a funhouse mirror, distorting all goodwill into a form it can accept.

Even Guilliman, who had returned to the Empire, could only lament his helplessness in the face of the Ministry of the Interior's bureaucratic system, which was piled high with "shit-like codes," and had no choice but to start from scratch.

The Primarch wrote in his private journal, "Sometimes I really want to throw the entire Terran bureaucracy into the sun and start from scratch." But in the end, he could only compromise and establish parallel agencies to circumvent this mess.

This entire empire is a massive, despair-inducing "mountain of shit" that has been operating for ten thousand years.

Its subsystems are nested within each other, its laws are intricately intertwined, and its traditions are deeply ingrained.

Like an old computer that has been patched by countless generations of programmers, no one can explain its original architecture anymore, and no one dares to shut it down and restart it rashly.

Any attempt to modify its underlying structure is akin to digging a foundation on the edge of a precarious cliff—praying that the mountain won't collapse is the greatest hope one can have.

In a dream, Chen Xi saw himself forcefully pulling on a thread on the rotting corpse of the Empire, causing the entire body to disintegrate and reveal the countless skeletons of reformers that had been devoured inside.

When he woke up, his pillowcase was soaked with cold sweat.

"Okay, I understand." Chen Xi's sigh almost exhausted the air in her chest, and her voice was so soft that it seemed as if it would dissipate into the cold air at any moment.

His fingers unconsciously tightened around the metal railing, the coolness of the metal seeping through his fingertips.

How could he not understand this cold reality?

But that reluctance and unwillingness that came from the depths of his soul, like thorns, always entangled his heart.

Whenever I close my eyes, those faces swallowed by the flames of war appear in the darkness, and their final cries seem to still echo in my ears.

Ultimately, the foundation of human empires lies in the billions of individuals with names, flesh and blood, capable of both laughter and tears.

They had laughed at the birth of their child on a certain morning and wept at the departure of their loved ones on a certain evening; their lives should have been as unique as the stars.

If this empire itself treats individuals like dirt, and crushes them at will just to maintain the existence of the abstract behemoth that is the "empire," then what meaning of "humanity" is left in this "empire" that is ultimately protected?

It is nothing but an empty shell with its soul hollowed out, a mere walking corpse with only outward appearance.

Is it merely protecting the empty concept of "existence" itself?
It's like guarding a magnificent but uninhabited palace, or a book filled with words but no one reads it.
This question is destined to have no answer.

From the moment the emperor raised the banner of human unity, what he could focus on was the grand and abstract concept of "humanity," rather than any specific individual.

That gaze transcended time and space, focusing on the collective fate of the distant future, yet ignoring every life that was vanishing beneath its feet.

For this grand ambition, he was willing to sacrifice himself, let alone the millions of individual lives that are as insignificant as dust.
Faced with such a grand blueprint, personal joys and sorrows are but insignificant ripples in the long river of history.

Ironically, it is precisely the silent sacrifice of countless individuals, the crushed flesh and blood, and the obliterated souls that barely sustain this enormous machine called the "Human Empire," allowing it to stumble forward in the dark universe, heading towards its predetermined, decaying end.

Every turn of the gears is permeated with bright red lubricant.

The insignificance of the individual and the grandeur of the whole form the sharpest paradox and the deepest lament at this moment.

(End of this chapter)